


silence

by Hinn_Raven



Series: deprivation [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Captivity, Conditioning, Electrocution, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Sleep, Sleeping Together, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 19:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: Wash was taught not to scream in  his sleep, and has to learn to find his voice again.





	silence

**Author's Note:**

> what's this? a deprivation verse entry? over a year since the last one? well, it must be someone's birthday! 
> 
> ... [jomeimei421's ](https://jomeimei421.tumblr.com/)birthday, to be precise. Mei requested an exploration of Wash's nightmares AGES ago, and I've been saving it for a special occasion, and so here you go!
> 
> Happy birthday Mei, you dancing queen you! <3
> 
> (Warnings in the endnotes, folks, and remember, check the tags!)

Wash has only been back with them for a short while when they figure out that Wash has nightmares.

The problem is, of course, what to _do_ about them.

It’s horrifying, watching Wash sleep.

Tucker had bunked with Wash for months, back in that canyon in the fucks-forsaken jungle, back at the crash site, before everything went so horrifically wrong.

Wash had nightmares. Wash woke up yelling and swinging at whoever dared to wake him up. Wash woke up on the floor in a tangle of sheets more than once, and even when he didn’t, the sheets were a knot every morning from all of his tossing and turning.

Wash… doesn’t sleep like that anymore.

Those first few nights, they’d kept him in the infirmary, under Doctor Grey’s observation.

Tucker sits on the uncomfortable hospital chair, staring at Wash, trying to catalogue everything he can.

There’s more grey in Wash’s hair, there’s new scars, the dark circles under his eyes look like they’re permanent now, and there are new lines of stress carved into Wash’s face.

But it’s still _Wash_.

Wash turns his face towards Tucker, steely grey eyes flickering around the hospital room uncertainly.

“I know you hate hospitals Wash,” Tucker says, because they’ve had this conversation before, a long time ago, back before Valhalla, even. “But try to sleep, okay?”

Wash rolls away from Tucker, not even putting up a fight or a noise of protest, and yeah, death was too good for Locus, there’s no doubt about that.

Grey calls Tucker away eventually, to check on his own injuries. Caboose takes his place in the chair, because honestly, none of them want to leave Wash alone.

After Grey has been convinced that no, Tucker did not lose any limbs or enough blood to warrant a transfusion and after she’s cleaned up his scrapes and threatened him with a scalpel until he went and took a shower with only a minimal amount of flirting, far too much time had passed. Sure, Tucker admits, he did badly need that shower, but the whole time he’s standing there, he’s just thinking about _Wash_ , and wanting to get back to the hospital to make sure he’s still there, still alive, still _with them_.

Tucker races through his shower and then puts his underarmor back on, because fuck if he’s going to go back to his room to get his clothes and spend _more_ time away from Wash, and then heads back to the bed.

Wash is asleep—the heartbeat monitor, which Sarge has obliging programmed to make the beeping noises like on TV to keep track, because otherwise Caboose gets nervous if it’s quiet, tells Tucker so.

“Hi Tucker,” Caboose says, in the closest thing he has to a whisper.

“Hi Caboose,” Tucker says, pulling up yet another one of those chairs—are they uncomfortable on purpose? Is that a thing? “Caboose, have you eaten yet?”

Caboose looks guilty. “Well, but _Tucker_ , Wash hasn’t eaten—”

“He’s on an IV drip right now, Caboose. Seriously, go get some food. I’ll stay with him.”

It takes him half an hour more to convince Caboose, and in the end, Tucker ends up having to call Church and Carolina for reinforcements. But in the end, Caboose leaves for the cafeteria, and Tucker is left alone with Wash and his thoughts.

“Wash—I’m—” Tucker whispers, bowing his head. “ _Fuck_.”

This shouldn’t have happened. None of this should ever have happened.

This whole planet is a fucking disaster, and everything that’s happened since they’ve arrived here is the _worst_.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally, even though the steadiness of the heart monitor tells him that Wash can’t hear him. Wash is asleep, and he’s battered and silent and was wearing the fucking _Meta suit_ , but he’s back with them, and they’re going to figure this out, one way or another.

Tucker puts his head in his hands and just… listens, to the sound of Wash’s breathing, steady and almost familiar, and the blip and beep of the monitor, and the distant sound of Grey moving through her rounds. It’s almost hypnotic, the way that the sounds all blend together, and Tucker’s been awake for over a day, now, with everything that’s happened, and…

Well, it couldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a moment, could it?

The heart monitor’s spike in volume and speed has him on his feet in an instant.

“Wash?”

Wash’s breathing is sped up, coming in short, painful sounding pants, his jaw locked so tightly that Tucker thinks he can hear his teeth grinding. His eyelids are fluttering, his eyes darting back and forth, his fingers twitching frantically, as if he’s trying to do something—

But his hands stay firmly at his sides, and nothing louder than a whimper escapes Wash’s mouth.

Tucker doesn’t even stop to consider what Locus and Felix must have done to Wash, to make him like this, to make him quiet and still and compliant instead of tossing and turning and screaming and hell, even occasionally _stabbing_ in response to his nightmares, but instinct takes over, and Tucker grabs ahold of Wash’s wrist.

“Wash!”

Wash’s eyes fly open, giving Tucker a glimpse of two circles of grey ringed entirely in their whites, and Wash sits upright, and then immediately flinches, as if expecting to be struck.

“Wash, it’s okay,” Tucker says, reaching for Wash, who’s staring at him like he’s never seen him before, and Tucker’s stomach is in revolt at the wrongness of this whole scene.

Even the time that Wash had _stabbed_ him, Wash had never been like this. Then, Wash had been hoarse from screaming, had kept his back to a wall, but he’d also been ready to fight or flee, been practically prepared to run screaming from Blue Base in nothing but his pajamas or fight his way out if Tucker had decided to take offense at said accidental stabbing.

Now, he’s just… sitting there. Watching Tucker with those wide, steel eyes, waiting for something to happen, prepared to take it without complaint or resistance, whatever it was that Tucker will dole out.

It’s sickening and terrifying, and _Tucker_ wants to run away this time, because this _isn’t right_ , nothing about this is right, fucking _Chorus_ , fucking _Felix_ , fucking _Locus_ , fucking _Freelancer_ , fucking every single last circumstance that led them to here, in this room, in this situation, with Wash perfectly still and silent, as if expecting to be slapped for having a nightmare.

Tucker presses his hand against Wash’s face, and Wash leans into it immediately, the heart rate monitor slowly returning to something that sounds reasonable, and Tucker tries his best to get his own heart under control.

* * *

 

Felix is the one who gets tired of Wash screaming in his sleep.

“If you don’t _shut up_ , I’m going to seal up your mouth with tape,” he threatens. “Maybe your nose too while I’m at it, because if I wake up in the middle of the night because you can’t _handle things_ , I’m going to—”

“Felix,” Locus reprimands, and Felix drops Wash to the ground to cradle his throat. Bruises shaped like armored fingers are blossoming there, and they’re going to _hurt_ for a good long while.

“Fuck—you,” Wash hisses out, even though he _knows_ he’s going to pay for it.

Sure enough, Locus’s armored boot collides with his diaphragm, and Wash’s back slams against the wall of his cell, leaving him sick to his stomach, winded, and bruised.

“He’s not supposed to talk, let alone at night,” Felix whines to Locus. “Surely there’s _something_ we can do?”

Locus pauses, and Wash’s blood runs cold at the considering tilt to is helmet. “I suppose.”

The next day proceeds as normal—Felix is gone, off doing whatever it is he’s doing when he’s not tormenting Wash or mocking Wash or needling Locus—but that doesn’t mean that Wash’s day is any easier. Wash almost hopes that he’s going to be left alone in his cell that night (he’s ignoring the back of his mind, which is already upset at the idea of being alone) when Locus comes into his cell with a strange pad.

“Your new sleeping arrangement, Washington,” Locus says, and _wow_ , Wash hates him.

Wash isn’t left cuffed in his cell very often, but tonight, Locus cuffs his arms to the wall as he’s lying down on the pad, making sure that Wash can’t leave it.

“Remember, Washington,” Locus says, before he leaves. “Not a sound. And stay still.”

Wash has slept in worse positions, he tells himself, even though he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on those times in Recovery, in the hospital, in the desert with the Meta. He just forces himself to close his eyes and try to sleep.

_His hands are covered in blood, and he knows, somehow, exactly who’s blood it is, and it’s **Tuc—**_

The electric shock that pulls him out of his sleep causes him to cry out again, which electrocutes him _again_ , and Wash bites his tongue after the third time, his breath coming through his nose in heavy pants as he tries to calm down.

“ _Not a sound_ ,” Locus’s voice says, from far too close, and it’s dark in his cell, and Wash kicks out, his foot leaving the pad and—

Every inch of his body is on fire, arcing off the pad, his tongue is bleeding with the effort it’s taking not to scream.

“ _Stay still_ ,” Locus says, and Wash locks down his limbs, until the only sound left is his own heartbeat, racing in his ears.

He stares up at the dark ceiling.

He can’t escape his captivity, even in his sleep, it seems.

Wash closes his eyes and goes to sleep again, knowing, deep in his bones, that he’s going to be woken up again soon.

* * *

 

There’s a comfort, to not sleeping alone, these days.

It’s not always Tucker, but it usually is, just because it’s an easy pattern to fall into, even as slowly, Wash pulls himself back together.

Spending the night with Grif means spending the night with Simmons as well, and now that Wash is a little more aware, with more of his pieces back in place, he’s more reluctant to introduce, when Carolina or Caboose or Sarge or Donut are all there, willing to keep him company, even if each of them have their own methods.

Carolina sleeps with her back pressed against his, a show of trust on both of their parts, and, if the nightmares get too bad, it’s becoming easier and easier as the days go by, to reach over and grab her hand in the middle of the night, knowing that, no matter how asleep she is, she’ll squeeze back.

Caboose wraps Wash in his entire body, his chin propped on Wash’s head, and it’s great, except for the occasional drooling. But it’s warm and enthusiastic and soothing, and Wash really can’t ask for more, not from his teammate and friend.

Sarge sleeps with his shotgun on one side and Wash on the other and is proud when Wash puts his pistol under his pillow or sticks a knife in the wall for easy access in the morning, unlike the others. Despite proclaiming loudly to be “not a _cuddler,_ goddamnit Grif! A man’s got some dignity!” Wash wakes up with Sarge sprawled across his chest more often than not.

Donut… has way too many pillows, and honestly, Donut, it’s not an _insult_ that Wash moved to the floor, he just likes not drowning in feathers!

(Tucker and Donut were both proud of him for asserting himself, and when Wash spends the night with Donut after that, he gets out the sleeping bags and declares it a sleepover instead of addressing the somehow impossibly fluffy bed that Donut has managed to get in the middle of a war zone.)

But…

Tucker’s side is still the most comfortable. They spend most nights in Wash’s room, where Caboose has put glow-in-the-dark-stars on the ceiling, and there are blankets upon blankets, because Wash is always cold these days, and he falls asleep with Tucker’s arm thrown over him, and his body pressed against his back, and when he wakes up screaming, all Tucker ever does is hang onto him tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for violence, captivity, electrocution, and nightmares, as well as the broader universe warnings that continue to be around! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed, please drop a comment, and also go wish Mei a happy birthday on Tumblr! 
> 
> If you want to yell at/talk to me, I'm @[secretlystephaniebrown](http://secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr.


End file.
